Your Eyes Open
by ChocolatMoosePi
Summary: After the finale, they scattered. Parker gets caught, and looses everything. She's out of jail, but laying low, and having to take up a new trade to get by. That's when Hardison finds her. MOOSENOTES POSTED!
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Your Eyes Open  
**Author:** Moose (ChocolateMoosePi)  
**Characters/Pairing:** Parker, Hardison, Parker/Hardison  
**Rating/Category:** Mature, Somewhat AU  
**Spoilers:** Not much of anything except perhaps The Second David Job for plausible set-up.  
**Summary:** After the finale, they scattered. Parker gets caught, and looses everything. She's out of jail, but laying low. She told Nate she was good at one thing, and one thing only. Without that one thing, she takes up a new trade to get by, and that's when Hardison finds her, at last.

To be completely honest here, I'm recycling this story that I wrote well over a year ago for a different pairing (Two, actually - I've already recycled this once, lol). But I've never written the second part, and I hate to see it go unfinished. So I've edited it a smidgeon so it can sort of make sense for them, and I'm trying it out on you guys to see if it's worth pursuing. If you read this, please comment - good or bad - so I know whether or not to continue.

The song is Your Eyes Open by Keane: .com/tracks/your%20eyes%20open%20keane

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It was just sex.

Two bodies, writhing together, entangled in their ecstasy, yet devoid of any feeling beyond that of their carnal desires. She wore the face of her profession, weathered through the years to stand against all matters of indignation, the scorn of her very own heart, long since deserted her in this wasteland of derelict dreams.

She moaned in her particular imitation of pleasure as he thrust within her, her nails gripping at his shoulder in an unquenched desperation to mark him with the burden she had always held within a heart of molten lead. If only she could leave a scar upon the flawless canvas stretched taught across the steadily pulsing muscles of his back, she could engrave her name in even the most fleeting of memories within the damp, forgotten closets of another's mind... Though simply as that whore he'd once picked up on a visit to the motel strip.

He panted against her neck as his teeth bit mercilessly down upon it, leaving but another wound on a body of broken flesh, broken spirit, broken being. She felt no salvation, knew no light could reach her here, in her cavernous existence of dust. She merely was. Not bad. Not good. No intent or emotion behind her every action. She was but a brick stuck beneath the pavement. An abandoned building neither lived in nor torn down.

And so she moved, her hips bucking up to meet with his as she closed her mind to the actions she performed. Her gaze fell to the far corner of the ceiling, locking upon it as his hands kneaded each of her breasts with equal fervor in turn. Her head fell back in an anguish which held no counterance of pleasure. Forgotten mind screaming for a struggle, as her body stilled to his movement within her.

Greedy palms gave way to bruises, procured beneath the spidery fingers which branched in domination. He shook her until alas her eyes conceded to his power, meeting with his own, "You look at me when I'm fucking you, bitch. Understand?" She stared vacantly ahead as he shook her once more, "I said look at me!" She did as was ordered, her hips rekindling their fiery movements in calculated time with the gyrations of her partner. And with a final thrust, he came within her as his fluids spilled out over the loose rim of the contraceptive. Her eyes rose once more to the ceiling above, her body immobilized with fear, with pain. A single tear slipped down her cheek despairingly, falling to the hollow of her neck, where he licked it away with his tongue.

He removed himself from within her, gathering his discarded clothing as he gently dabbed the sweat from his forehead, his cheeks, and - with an eventual smirk of lustful disdain directed toward where she lay immobilized upon the stained mattress and disheveled sheets - the penis still glistening in the products of his own undoing... Each act of simulated cleansing performed at the submission of the panties he had taken from the floor where they had lain in tandem with his own belt, crumpled hastily in defense as though to forget the world around them and the pain of their counterpart upon the mattress, where both soul and dignity lay defeated in a pool of silent blood.

He hastily withdrew his wallet from the pocket of a grey suit now reduced to a haphazard heap upon the carpet. The paper drifted down upon her naked form as an abrupt slap across flushed cheeks. She gathered them as the flow of tears continued to build in its intensity, wrapping the sheets around her with the want for a sense of dignity she had never possessed as she rose to escort him to the door. She slid the deadbolt into place, its echo deafening as the note resounded with the finality of deeds committed in the night, so cavalierly disregarded by the outside world as those to occur on any other. She rested her weight upon the single stability afforded to her, sliding down the surface at a pace so agonizingly slow until alas she met with the soiled carpet beneath calloused feet. Violent convulsions shook a form appearing smaller, somehow, so childlike in her defeat as she wrapped her arms protectively around her knees, drawing them closer to her body until alas she surrendered herself to the demons that consumed her. She wept.

Alec sighed into the misted night, fingering the syringe buried deep within his pocket. His knuckles gripped white around it, his mind holding it tighter still. Just one more fix... One more glimpse into the brief salvation amidst his furied agony. He recoiled a hand scathed in the crossfire of his submission to the unquellable compulsion with a noose upon his throat, withdrawing until fingertips were left to claw at the hem of their denim encampment. Distant sirens cried, and he allowed his slim form to sink into the eerie reassurance of the shadows as before. Rasping a cough in the cold, one hand took hold of his jacket, wrapping it around his lithe form as the other dove deep within his pocket, pausing slightly as he fumbled with the idea before pulling the syringe out, altogether. He raised it to his eyeline, bringing it closer than was reasonably required as he struggled to make out the form in the dim light afforded to him.

"Hey Sugar," her voice sang out into the stillness of the night, calling to Alec in a timbre so stingingly familiar, though masked in the blatant air of seduction quite skillfully perfected through her trade. She leant forward, pressing her breasts down hard upon the top rim of the open window so as to showcase them to her best advantage as she stealthily pursued the prospective clientelle sitting just inside the door of the sleek black Lexus... "Whaddya say, sweetheart... Ya wanna come upstairs and play?" He watched from his angle as the patron toyed with the suggestion, juggling it mentally beneath a slick toupée of hair as he glanced nervously down at the dubious expression upon the otherwise stagnant face of his watch, fidgeting briefly with the band of the Rolex as his own visage twisted painfully in a show of his frustration. The man reached his hand forward, resting it briefly upon the girl's own as he stroked it with his thumb. There was something in the small smile upon that man's face, the look in his eyes as he slowly dragged his tongue across her fingertips, that enraged Alec, and ignited within him so many forgotten feelings he had no right to have held on to. And so he felt no remorse in rejoicing the man's departure, his lungs slowly releasing the hold they kept upon their air as he watched the car drive slowly out of sight, pausing slightly as it rounded the corner to glance back upon an opportunity missed, an opportunity now free for Alec's own seizure.

He mustered each and every likening of courage stowed deep within a fervently quivering heart, focusing the lot of them upon the single, otherwise simplistically mundane chore of a whistle. It drifted slowly outward from the emptiness between pursed lips, cautiously stumbling into the outside world as though uncertain of its purpose. She turned, employing a strategic toss of her short blue hair as she focused a single eye of seduction upon the source of such a bold proposition. Alec briefly contemplated the thin wisp of but a single, insignificant memory, reveling in a recalled sensation, as he felt her soft, waving tendrils slipping between his parted fingers in eloquent harmony to the foreground of a kiss, an untamed mess of the wild blonde hair breaking free from its daily restraint. He was certain it must remain entangled beneath the wig she wore. His head quirked ever so slightly to the side as he took in a long-forgotten beauty eroded through the years, twisted in a deeply rehearsed façade of seduction as she winked, sauntering with a step all too forthcoming with its intent as she made her way to him.

"Hey there, Handsome," she spoke to him at last, her voice corrupted to resound far deeper than it once had, thickly laced with a husky tone he could not have expected to ring forth from the delicate body he had once cherished with such care. His eyes fixed their gaze upon her lips as she spoke to him, whimpering at the cruelty of a world that would dare to reunite him with their presence, yet forbid him to caress them in the way he so longed to do once more.

She released a slight roll of laughter beneath her steady breath, as she wavered in discomfort at his silence, a misstep - he told himself - no other could have perceived had they not known her with the intimacy that he did. "I'm Alice," she smiled, reaching her hand toward him as though asking him to shake it. When he simply stared upon it as though frightened at the prospect of her touch, she made a move to ease his worries, raking her fingernails ever so lightly down his chest, and delighting in the shiver with which he responded to the unexpected contact. Remise of maintaining his shadowy cover, he allowed the hooded anguish of his expression to meet with the path of the streetlight above. And even through the weathering of those few short years apart, he knew he had revealed himself.

After a slight pause, in which Alec stood stiff before her, his eyes closed in a fearful ecstasy, she spoke in a deeply throated tone once more, "Whaddya say you and me go upstairs for a while." He managed a nod against the palm of a hand now stroking the unkempt stubble of his cheek. It was all he could do to keep from the inevitable confrontation until the point when he could have her to himself, kept secret in the unknown interactions behind closed doors, rekindled after all these years.


	2. AN

Hello my fellow Parker/Hardison fans (I know you're out there, somewhere). I don't mean to sound desperate, but this story has meant a lot to me (through all three fandoms it's lived through, lol), and I WOULD like to FINALLY write part two with the storyline I've got planned out for these two. But I don't want to pour my heart into writing something that NOBODY'S gonna read. So if you have read this, PLEASE leave a review. Even a short little baby one. Even if you HATED it - Tell me that, too, so I know not to waste my time. Or if you don't understand it - I have a little thing I call "MooseNotes™" stored away from my explanation to the last people who read this. Please just say something, cause if noone does, this is just gonna hang out in Limbo forevermore.

Peace and Love!

~ Moosey ~


	3. MooseNotes

Thank you so much for the reviews, guys!

moonmagik (Did I get that right): No worries, I absolutely get what you're saying. As a reader, I often indulge in just some shameless, guilty-pleasure, shippy fanfics, and I love them to death - Instant gratification. But at heart, I'm a poet. So I try to push the boundaries as a writer. And - quite honestly - in writing a story, I care about 10% about the plot, and 90% about expressing the feeling behind it. Same with all other art forms I create/view of others'. And I absolutely get that it's confusing, cause I want it to be. Yes, I'd love it if everybody whose ever read what I've written got everything out of it that I wanted them to. But I don't want it to come easy - I want to make people stop, and consider something, and try to feel what I'm attempting to convey... You know?

Anyway, if that sounds overly-whatever, sorry. I've been working on this compilation of poems I'd like to have published eventually, so I'm feeling all artsy.

The point of this post is: I just so happen to have a copy of the "MooseNotes" that I had written for the fandom I'd posted this in previously. I mostly went back through and changed the names, so if you see "Katee" it's Parker, and "Joshua/Josh" is Hardison.

**MooseNotes™ For Part One **

It was just sex. (Fairly straightforward, lol)

Basically, two people (The girl is Parker) are having sex, but in a purely carnal way. There's no feeling behind it. She's basically hardened herself to the experience, because, as a prostitute, she has no choice.

She's a professional in every sense of the word. She's moaning and pretending the experience is pleasurable, but it's all for the benefit of the client. She digs her nails into him, hoping to leave a mark so someone, anyone, will remember her, even if just as a hooker.

The guy, on the other hand, is enjoying the sex. He's panting and biting her neck, which she sees as just another wound in the literal and figurative sense. She finds that she lives in a place without any light (not literally, lol). And basically, she merely exists. She's stranded in this way of life, unable to do anything about it.

She's performing the actions of sex, and mentally blocking out everything she's doing. He's kneading her breasts, and she's just staring blankly past him to the ceiling. She is in pain, without any sexual arousal or pleasure to offset it. Her mind screams for her to fight him off, but she doesn't. She does, however, stop moving.

He grips her tightly to the point of bruising, and shakes her, screaming for her to look at him while they have sex. She ignores him, so he shakes her again. She looks at him, and goes back to performing the mindless sex, pretty much rehearsed to just be the biological form of the actions, without any feeling behind them. He thrusts into her one last time, and his semen leaks out of the condom, which prompts her to start crying.

He disengages, picking her panties off the floor and maliciously wiping himself with them. The panties are described in connection with Parker, herself.

He picks up his wallet, takes out the cash, and throws it over her naked body. It's like a slap to her. She weeps, gathering the money whilst wrapping the sheets around her naked form. She throws him out, slamming the door and putting the deadbolt in place. She finds the sound has a certain finality to it that's appropriate with what has just happened. She knows that nobody in the outside world cares what has just happened. She slides down the wall and onto the stained carpet and weeps.

Meanwhile outside… Hardison is standing in the shadows, his hand partially in his pocket as he fingers the syringe in there and contemplates using it (He's a druggy). He brings it out of his pocket and holds it in front of his face to contemplate it.

Just then, he's pulled out of his concentration by a voice he recognizes. She's speaking to a man in an expensive car, pressing her breasts against the open window to showcase them, inviting him to come upstairs with her for sex. He wants to, but he glances down at his watch, and reluctantly drives away. Hardison finds himself relieved at her rejection.

Hardison whistles at the girl (Parker). She turns to him, flipping the hair of her blue wig as she does. She looks at him seductively. As she does, he thinks up this memory of her from long ago (i.e. The First David Job) when he once felt her soft, wild (taking artistic license) hair slipping between his fingers, as he entangled them there before they kissed. He wonders if the hair beneath her wig is as crazy as it was back then. He tilts his head to the side as he contemplates her, noticing that her face now has a façade of seduction. She winks, walking toward him, clearly hoping to seduce them.

She speaks to him in a deep, husky tone that's nothing like the voice he remembers. He stares at her lips, wishing he could kiss her as he once did, but knowing he can't.

She laughs nervously, though he knows nobody would notice her discomfort unless they knew her as well as he did. She introduces herself as Alice. This is a reference to Alice White – her alias in The Juror #6 Job. She reaches her hand out for him to shake (in a cute/seductive sort of way), but he looks almost afraid to touch her (which he is). So instead she reaches it even further and scrapes her fingers down his chest. He shivers and closes his eyes. Lost oin the feeling, he lets himself step out into the light, and realizes he has given himself away. He, too, looks different after all he's been through, but she recognizes him, still.

Still in character, she invites him upstairs, placing her hand to cup the side of his stubbly cheek. He nods against it. He's too afraid to speak and let slip something he's not ready to tell her yet, so he waits until they're upstairs.


End file.
